


Signal when you want me

by acidpop25



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, M/M, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidpop25/pseuds/acidpop25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's life was much simpler before Eames' sister showed up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signal when you want me

The woman who saunters up to Eames as the team are dispersing is, Arthur knows, his sister. Even if he hadn't done his background research on their forger as he does on everyone (and he _had_ ), they look enough alike that he could have guessed it. She's a scant year younger than her brother, and she shares his laughing green-blue eyes and sandy brown hair. They're alike in the face, too, strong jaws and cheekbones, and she's solidly though not particularly broadly built, half a head shorter than Eames and curvy.

Eames scoops her into his arms with a delighted laugh. "Theresa! Princess, what a nice surprise."

"I wouldn't have to surprise you if you were ever in London anymore, loser," she retorts, hugging him back. Yusuf and Ariadne are hovering nearby, all but bursting with curiosity; Arthur hangs further back and watches without impatience.

Eames kisses his sister on the cheek and ruffles her hair. "I'm a terrible brother," he agrees brightly. "T, this is Yusuf and Ariadne, I work with them. This is my sister Theresa."

"Nice to meet you," she says with a charming smile. She shakes both their hands and compliments Ariadne on her scarf, a bright blue plaid, before her gaze comes to rest on Arthur and she raises her eyebrows. "And who's _this_ fine piece?" she croons. Theresa has a honeyed alto voice with a more marked accent than her brother's, and she practically caresses the words as she says them. Arthur remains steadfastly unruffled, and offers his hand.

"I'm Arthur."

"Arthur," she purrs, "I'm so very pleased to meet you."

He merely nods politely.

Arthur has the distinct feeling he'll be seeing more of Eames Junior, and reminds himself to never take another job in London with Eames if he can avoid it. It looks like he's going to be in for a doubly irritating few weeks. And of course, of _course_ Theresa and Ariadne already seem to be striking up a friendly conversation, and of _course_ Yusuf is looking at her like she's the hottest thing since fire.

Great. Just _great_.

Arthur escapes as fast as he can.

* * *

"You don't mess around, do you?"

Theresa snickers and kicks her feet up to rest on the coffee table. "Why should I?"

"You'll scare him off."

"Didn't seem scared to me. Bitchy, sure, but not scared."

Eames snorts. "God, I've missed you."

"Then maybe you should pick up a phone once in a while, yeah?"

"I know, I know. I really am sorry, I just get..."

"Caught up in work or gambling binges?" she finishes for him, brow raised.

"Guilty as charged."

"You generally are. Got any fags?"

"Sure." Eames tosses a pack of cigarettes at her, and she catches, pulls one out, and digs through her purse for a lighter. Eames takes the carton back as she lights up, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.

"So," she says, "tell me about Arthur."

Eames' lips quirk up at the corners. "He's got a great arse and looks disgustingly good in his suits. He's a perfectionist, uptight, extraordinarily bright but extraordinarily set in his own ways of doing things. Knows his way around firearms and research. Likes old movies, postwar art, fall, black coffee, and Auden. Hates the tropics, pop music, hats, water chestnuts, and traffic."

Theresa smiles a Mona Lisa smile at him, but to Eames it's not inscrutable. "Stop that," he tells her, and she breaks into quiet giggles.

"Wait, wait, don't tell me," she says, "you know because of your job. Right? You're gonna try to tell me that it has absolutely nothing to do with wanting to shag his brains out, and if you think I'm laughing now, oh _man_."

Eames lets out an exasperated breath. "Why did I think telling you I was in town was a good idea, again? I can't recall."

"Because you obviously need my help," Theresa answers, cuffing his shoulder lightly. "Can't pick up your hot co-worker on your own."

"I _could_ ," Eames protests, and Theresa rolls her eyes.

"Of course you could, Jack," she says, tone patronizing. The girl really does have a lot of gall. "I'll help anyway."

Alarming words. "Help how, exactly?"

"Don't make that suspicious face at me. God, you're paranoid. Look, tell him I'll leave him alone if I think he's with you, and tah-dah! Once he's your fake boyfriend you win him over with hot snogs until he can't resist you."

"There are so many things wrong with this plan."

"So it's settled, then," Theresa announces, ignoring him. "Shall we see what's on the telly?"

* * *

Theresa shows up the next morning trailing after Eames, and Arthur sighs quietly. Her hips sway when she walks– almost a swagger, really, a more feminine version of the way Eames moves– and she's wearing knee-high suede boots and tight jeans that show in loving detail exactly how lush her hips are.

The siblings have come bearing breakfast, and Theresa takes it upon herself to bring Arthur his.

"Cranberry muffins," she says, handing over a small paper bag. "Jack said they were your favourite."

"Ah. Thank him for me, then."

"Oh, but they're from me." Theresa has a catlike smile when she wants to, secretive and a little unnerving, nothing like her bright delight at seeing her brother had looked.

"Oh." Arthur presses his lips into a thin line for a moment. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome, handsome," she replies, and perches precariously on an empty corner of Arthur's desk– which puts her a narrow step ahead of Eames, who always sits on Arthur's papers. Arthur tries to ignore her, even though he can feel Theresa's eyes on him as he works. She sits in silence, though, for a while before she speaks again.

"You're a very focused person, aren't you?" Theresa murmurs, and when Arthur chances a glance up he finds that yes, she is watching him with curious eyes.

"I suppose I am, yes. The job depends on it."

"Mm." Theresa leans forward. "And are you so single-minded about... other things?"

Arthur frowns, bites into a muffin, and does not answer her. Theresa just laughs, a bright, rich sound, and wanders off to talk to Ariadne instead.

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief and goes back to his research.

* * *

"Eames," Arthur says quietly, "got a moment?"

"Sure," he says amiably, "what is it?"

Arthur throws a glance across the room. Theresa is currently cozying up to Ariadne, smiling and playing with her scarf. Ariadne looks completely charmed, and Theresa looks temporarily distracted. It's good enough.

"Your sister," Arthur says carefully, "look, she's lovely and all, but I really don't– could you tell her I'm not interested?"

Eames chuckles. "It's not that simple, darling. Once T has her sights set on something, she doesn't really take no for an answer. The only time I've seen her leave someone alone was when I was dating the girl."

Eames doesn't even have to come out and say it; he can see the wheels turning behind Arthur's perfectly slicked-back hair.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Arthur says, in deeply horrified tones, "but would you be my fake boyfriend while she's here?"

Eames can't help but laugh; Arthur looks so utterly mortified. "I'm sorry, that's a sentence I never thought I'd hear cross your lips."

"So will you?"

Eames smirks at him. "Sure, darling." Then he leans in and kisses Arthur, right there in front of anyone who happens to look their direction. His lips are so incredibly full and soft; it's quite a chaste kiss, really, but something about it leaves Arthur's heart pounding in his chest. Eames smirks at him and nudges Arthur back in the direction of his own desk.

"Work to do, handsome," Eames says, "you can drag me off and ravish me later." He winks and turns back to the photos spread over his workspace, and Arthur retreats to his own desk, fingers worrying over his lips.

Arthur glances over– Theresa isn't even facing him, she's still standing with Ariadne, the two women bent over Ariadne's model together.

Eames hadn't even needed to give him that kiss.

* * *

"Hey," Theresa says, leaning across Arthur's desk to get his attention. If he so much as dropped his gaze a little bit from her face he'd be looking down her shirt. He doesn't. "Listen, I was wondering if you'd like to go out for drinks or something with me tonight."

"I, um." Arthur bites his lip and glances over at Eames. "I kind of... have other plans. Date sort of plans."

"Oh." Theresa follows Arthur's gaze, and her eyes widen. "Oh God, are you and Jack– oh, wow, now I feel like an idiot. He didn't say."

"No, no, don't," Arthur says, "we're just, uh, pretty private about it. You didn't know, it's okay."

Theresa comes around the desk and, to his surprise, envelops Arthur in a hug. "I still feel like an idiot. I'm so sorry. My brother's got good taste."

Arthur actually smiles, cheeks dimpling. "Thanks."

"Sure. Have a good time on your date. Oh, and you might want to take it back to your place instead of his if you don't want me around."

Arthur flushes at the mental image those words burn unbidden into his brain. "Right. Thanks for the tip."

Theresa laughs brightly and sweeps off, and Arthur puts away his work and heads over to Eames' desk. "So apparently we have a date tonight."

Eames grins up at him. "I'll make us reservations."

* * *

Arthur isn't surprised that Eames knows his favorite restaurant in this part of town– Eames makes it his business to know people's habits every bit as much as Arthur does, if not more so. They take a quiet booth, and Eames fiddles with his napkin while he scans the menu.

"I'll order for you if you order for me," he challenges amiably, amused, and Arthur quirks a smile.

"Sure." He knows Eames well enough for that, and Eames smiles at him across the table when Arthur asks for the filet mignon, rare, in the red wine sauce.

"The snapper for me," Eames says, and Arthur nods his approval and takes a piece of bread from the basket.

"With your attention to detail," Eames remarks, "if you could forge worth a damn I'd be out of a job."

"Be glad I can't, then," Arthur replies with a shrug. "Not really my kind of thing anyway, though."

"No," Eames agrees, "you're an adrenaline junkie, you prefer impossible fights to a disguise."

"I prefer to plan my jobs so well no fighting is needed," Arthur amends, "but yes. I wouldn't have been in the military if I couldn't handle a fight."

"Or a high-speed chase, or snipers, or jumping out of airplanes, or–"

"All right, all right," Arthur says, chuckling, "you got me. I have a certain taste for thrills. Most points do."

Eames grins at him and reaches out to brush a thumb over one of Arthur's dimples. The touch makes something in him go squirmy, but not unpleasantly so.

They swap plates when the food arrives, and Arthur makes a low, appreciative noise in the back of his throat as he takes the first bite. It's perfectly cooked, perfectly seasoned. Eames is watching him with smoky eyes.

"Tell me," he says, voice rough, "if that's how you sound when your _dinner_ is good, how do you sound when–"

"Eames!" Arthur interrupts, face flushing. " _Fake_ boyfriend, remember?"

Eames extends his leg, rubs his calf against Arthur's. "It doesn't have to be fake."

Arthur swallows hard. "I thought you'd just been teasing me, all this time."

"Oh, I was," Eames agrees, "but teasing you and wanting you aren't mutually exclusive. On the contrary."

Arthur bites his lip. "So if after dinner I were to invite you back with me..."

"I would be a perfect gentleman," Eames replies, "until you told me not to be."

Arthur takes a long drink of his wine. "Don't order dessert," he says.

* * *

The others are already there when Arthur and Eames show up late for work the next day. Yusuf is tinkering with some concoction that is fizzing worryingly, and Ariadne and Theresa are sitting huddled close on one the the deck chairs, giggling to each other. Theresa is wearing Ariadne's scarf– wait a minute.

"Isn't that what you had on yesterday?" Arthur asks Ariadne, and she looks up and grins at him.

"Yeah. Isn't that what _Eames_ had on yesterday, too?"

Theresa bursts into outright laughter and buries her face in the crook of Ariadne's neck to muffle the sound. Ariadne squirms.

"Oh my God," Arthur mutters. "You and _Theresa?_ "

Yusuf looks up suddenly from his chemicals, nearly upsetting the flask.

"Your architect is a little wildcat in bed," Theresa remarks smugly, and catches Ariadne's earlobe between her teeth. Ariadne squirms a bit.

"Stop it," she mutters, without much conviction.

"Wait, wait, hang on," Arthur interrupts, "yesterday you wanted _me_."

"Not everything is about you, darling," Theresa says airily. "Not that you aren't lovely, but obviously you're terribly self-centred."

Arthur sputters, and Eames grins and wraps his arms around his waist.

"Very high-maintenance, my Arthur is."

"You _planned_ this," Arthur accuses, and Eames just keeps grinning at him.

"Maybe a little."

"I hate you."

"Not what you were saying last night."

Arthur goes red, and Theresa smiles smugly and tries to discreetly slide a hand up Ariadne's shirt.

"I think this worked out very well for everyone," she concludes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic where I first introduced Theresa Eames, who became headcanon to me from this point on. She also appears in [And they will keep you close](http://archiveofourown.org/works/292429), [The promises you never gave](http://archiveofourown.org/works/292668), and briefly near the end of [a man had a dream about a woman and then he met her](http://archiveofourown.org/works/292435).


End file.
